Over the Line
by saavik55
Summary: Everything is coming up roses for Olivia and Casey until one night's traumatic events. Will Olivia forgive Casey? Will Casey forgive herself?
1. Chapter 1

Olivia stripped her blouse and slacks off and threw them absentmindedly towards the closet. At this point, she didn't really care whether she kept the apartment in the neat condition Casey expected. After their volatile disagreement in Casey's office over the ADA's former fiancé and the upcoming fate of Saul Picard, Olivia was no longer concerned about any thing as petty as neatness. Instead, she limited her worries to Casey's mood. Back in the D.A.'s office, once they had both lapsed into silence, Casey had grasped her by the collar and hissed instructions into her ear. Olivia was familiar with this routine.

Picard's was not the first case on which Olivia and Casey had disagreed. On the contrary, they regularly clashed at work. Though their interactions on the job were often tense, however, Olivia and Casey still found themselves drawn together. They had been dating for nearly a year, ever since an overly enthusiastic celebration after a successful trial had ended in an unexpected kiss. Casey was the one who had leaned forward first though Olivia was hardly a spectator. The next few days were intensely awkward. The already stiff young redhead became even stiffer and Olivia began to have memories of the morning after her ill-fated night with Brian Cassidy. She slapped herself mentally for again making the same mistake. But, late on the following Friday, Casey had stopped by. She was clearly uneasy but, on the tall woman, the emotion was endearing. That flush and her tentatively issued invitation for dinner marked the real beginning of her and Olivia's relationship.

In the beginning, Casey was gentle with Olivia, even hesitant. As they became more familiar, however, their relationship intensified. At Olivia's encouragement, Casey took more and more initiative and control in the bedroom. She learned through practice, quickly developing a taste for domination, especially when she could exhibit her dominance over Olivia. After all, Olivia was tough and indomitable; Casey had ample opportunity to observe her girlfriend exert physical and emotional control over the psychos they dealt with everyday. Having such a woman submit to her, a young woman, excited Casey and she poured her frustrations and her budding love into their play.

Olivia welcomed Casey's confidence. When her girlfriend took the reins, Olivia could let herself go. Even in her own apartment, locked away from the joys and horrors she knew lay outside, Olivia could never find the release she experienced under Casey's hands. Casey understood exactly what Olivia dealt with, what she had seen. She didn't have to ask when Olivia couldn't speak to her and she gladly gave her lover the outlet she so desperately needed. It was perfect. That is, it was perfect until it wasn't.

It was only a few months into their serious relationship when Casey and Olivia suffered through their first real disagreement over the handling of a case. Casey had pushed for a young rapist to be tried as an adult while Olivia had begged her to send him to family court. She believed that this offender was a child, that he deserved a chance at rehabilitation before doing hard time at Rikers. Their argument escalated to near shouting. It was only finished when Casey took a breath, steadied herself, and stepped in close to Olivia. Ignoring the stares of the uniforms and detectives in the squad room, Casey pressed her lips to Olivia's ear and gave her the now familiar instructions. Over the course of their relationship, these instructions became a regular part of their lives both in and out of work.

After their fight about Saul Picard's assault of Elliot, however, Casey's voice lacked her customary warmth. Olivia was to go to Casey's apartment immediately after work. Casey ordered her to strip and kneel in the closet doorway with her head lowered and her back straight. She was to wait in that position until Casey returned and determined her punishment. Olivia instantly obeyed.

From the very first, Olivia had always obeyed Casey's instructions to the letter and she knew tonight would be no different despite her girlfriend's chilling tone. Even as her knees began to ache, Olivia stayed perfectly still. While she waited, the thought of disobedience crossed her mind. She knew that, if she was careful, she would hear Casey's key in the door and have ample time to return to her proper position. The thoughts were exceedingly short-lived. For some reason, Olivia always had the nagging sense that Casey would know if she hadn't followed her instructions perfectly. As a detective, Olivia knew that she could probably deceive her girlfriend. However, no matter how her muscles ached, Olivia refused to shift. She was better than that.

Olivia perked up when she heard the apartment door open and close. At the sound of Casey's clicking heels, Olivia whipped her eyes back down and focused on a spot on the floor. She wanted to call out to Casey and welcome her home, but Olivia knew better than to do that before she had been properly punished. She squared her shoulders and straightened her back and waited.

Casey kept her heels on as she walked into the bedroom. With a steely will, Olivia resisted the urge to look up at the tall, young woman. She only wanted a glimpse of Casey's face so that she could judge her girlfriend's mood. Instead she bit her lip and kept her face lowered.

Without warning, Casey bent and knotted her fingers in Olivia's short hair, yanking the brunette to her feet. Olivia yelped and stumbled, momentarily scrabbling for a grip on the doorframe. But, as she regained her balance, Olivia remembered the rules and dropped her hands back to her sides. She hoped Casey hadn't noticed. She let herself relax just a fraction as the redhead called no attention to her mistake. Her relaxation was quickly reversed, however, as Casey shoved her forward into the closet. Casey shoved again and again until Olivia stood with her nose pressed to a stack of her girlfriend's folded sweaters on the closet's built-in shelves. Olivia's heart fell. Casey only punished her here when she was truly upset.

Wordlessly, Casey yanked one of Olivia's arms up to the corner of the shelves and fastened it to a ringbolt with one of the leather cuffs they kept for such purposes. She repeated the action with Olivia's other wrist before stepping away. She kicked at Olivia's calves, forcing Olivia to spread her legs wide. Kneeling, Casey cuffed her ankles just as she had done Olivia's wrists. Hearing Casey move behind her, Olivia gingerly tested the security of her bonds and winced. Casey had buckled them too tight and already Olivia could feel her hands and feet begin to tingle. She parted her lips to say something, an action that Casey always permitted despite their rule of silence, but before she was able to speak, a gag was thrust into her mouth. 

Olivia choked as Casey rammed it deep into her throat and buckled it into place. Biting down and recovering herself, Olivia began to snap the fingers of her right hand. This was their agreed upon safe word for when Olivia was unable to speak. Casey had never ignored Olivia when she was distressed. Casey's footsteps receded, walking away from Olivia and towards the closet door. Feeling the beginnings of panic prick at her senses, Olivia snapped her fingers furiously and forced urgent noises from her throat. She got no response but for the click as Casey turned out the lights and the seemingly deafening slam of the closet door. Olivia was alone.

Olivia sagged in her bonds, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. She had lost all sense of time and in the darkness and her growing panic, she had fought against the cuffs holding her in place. Her efforts gained her no relief. Instead, she only exhausted herself. Gritting her teeth against the gag, Olivia forced herself to calm down. Casey would come back. Whenever Casey left during their play, she always returned. Olivia worked her numb hands and feet, opening and closing her fists and stretching her toes. Casey would be here soon and she'd be set free. And when she was released, Olivia knew that they would be having a serious talk about this. Olivia had used her safe word, used it more than once, and Casey had ignored her. That was unacceptable.

Though the sound was muffled, Olivia clearly heard the crash of the apartment door slamming. Breathing a sigh of relief, she craned her neck to look towards the closet door. She saw nothing but the thin band of light under the door, but it felt as if, by looking and hoping, she could will Casey to come and free her. Casey's shadow darkened the band of light and Olivia turned her head away and straightened her posture. If she wanted release, she knew she would have to behave. The door opened and the overhead light suddenly filled the closet with too bright light. Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and tried to be patient.

"You," Casey hissed. "You always fight with me in front of the detectives. My detectives! I'm sick of it." Her voice had lost its earlier coldness but had gained another quality that made Olivia's heart leap into her throat. Casey's words were slurred and sloppily enunciated. She was drunk. Immediately on the defensive, Olivia resumed her snapping, hoping to jar Casey back to the reality of their situation. But, instead of releasing Olivia, Casey grabbed her girlfriend's offending hand and squeezed. Olivia gasped in pain. Casey was a softball player, a good one, and she had the grip to prove it. She leaned close and spoke directly into Olivia's ear.

"You're always embarrassing me. When you tell me what to do, I look incompetent. I know I'm not your precious Alex, but she's dead. You've got me, Olivia. I'll teach you to live with it." Abruptly, Casey released Olivia's hand and stepped away as the brunette tried to straighten her crushed fingers. They moved slowly and the pain began to dissipate. Olivia was relieved but only for a moment.

The only warning Olivia had of the first blow was the barely audible rush of the weapon through the still air. Olivia yelped, her voice guttural, at pain exploded across the top of her thighs. It felt like she had been hit with a bat. She ground her forehead against the wooden shelf edge and tightened her fingers into fists. The blow was too forceful to be part of their play. Something was very wrong. As soon as she could focus sufficiently, Olivia snapped her fingers but managed to do so only once before Casey landed a second blow. Olivia arched her back and tucked her knees under her as much as she could, squirming desperately to escape the pain. When Casey struck her a third time, hitting her high on her hip, Olivia began to panic in earnest.

Casey hit her again and again, smashing the weapon against Olivia's back, shoulders, thighs and even her arms. At first, Olivia kept snapping and begging unintelligibly though the choking gag. With shame, she felt the warmth of her own drool wet her chest and drip further down her body but she didn't stop until she could no longer seem to force another sound out of her throat. Slowly, as the blows kept coming, Olivia lost strength. Instead of begging, her voice dissolved into rasps and then sobs. Her legs shook and, after a particularly painful blow to the back of her thigh, they gave out completely and Olivia collapsed, her body held upright only by the cuffs still firmly about her wrists. A glancing blow off of her shoulder connected solidly with the side of her head and Olivia saw black splotches. She fought to regain her footing and relieve the strain on her screaming wrists but her legs wouldn't support her. She choked weakly and gave up, letting her full weight hang from her arms. It was agony but it was easier. She let her head loll against her bicep.

Only the clatter of something wooden against the floor informed Olivia that it was over. In too much pain to even look over her shoulder, Olivia dimly prayed that she would be allowed to climb into bed and go to sleep. She wanted the comfort of the blankets and pillows more desperately then she ever had. Even her exhaustion after two straight days at the precinct couldn't compare. She just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. She let her eyes fall closed and she waited.

No relief came. She didn't know how long it had been since Casey had left her alone but she was sure that it was sufficient for Casey to have released her. With a great effort, Olivia turned her head to search for her missing girlfriend. She saw only the closet door, now just slightly ajar. What little of the bedroom Olivia could see was pitch dark. Casey was nowhere in sight. A fresh but feeble sob escaped her throat. She twitched her hand. It was the only movement she could manage, the most she could do to fight against her bonds.

Casey woke and rubbed her tangled hair away from her eyes. Her head was pounding. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut against the sunlight that seemed to send knives stabbing into her skull. Vaguely she remembered flashes of the night before and tried to recall exactly how much she had had to drink. She could only remember the first few. After that, her memories became a blur. Groping, she stumbled into the bathroom for a glass of water and a handful of aspirin. Maybe when this pounding headache gave way she would regain more details of her unusually wild night.

Emerging from the bathroom, she saw the pile of clothes on the carpet and rolled her eyes at herself. She bent gingerly to gather up her wrinkled jacket and skirt and found a pair of jeans hidden in the mess. She frowned again and strained her memory. These jeans had to be Olivia's; she was sure they were not her own. For a moment, she stood and thought before her eyes widened and her heart fell to the pit of her stomach. She had forgotten about Olivia.

Flooded with terrible panic, Casey threw the clothes to the floor and rushed to the closet. Yanking the door open, she was confronted with a scene that made the urge to vomit almost unbearable. Olivia was there, literally hanging from the cuffs binding her wrists. Casey flipped on the lights and took a step forward. Her rush to release her girlfriend was stopped short as she realized in horror what she had done. The bruises were horrible. They were dark and mottled, covering most of Olivia's body from her ankles to her wrists. She had left marks before, but never ones like these. These were serious and discolored even the areas where Casey was never to strike. They blossomed over her kidneys and her joints. Snapping herself violently from her sickening hesitation, Casey scrabbled at the leather cuffs binding her girlfriend, never ceasing until Olivia was limp in her arms.

From Casey's first touch, Olivia had seemed to come back to life. She moaned through her gag and tried to shy away from the redhead's contact though her motions were feeble. With every one of her movements and soft cries, Casey's heart broke with unbearable guilt. She could hardly believe that she had done such a thing but the flashes of bleary memory and the discarded softball bat told her otherwise. She wanted to throw herself away from Olivia and sob, but she could not. First, she had to get Olivia onto the bed and try to soothe her wounds.

Finally, Casey was able to settle Olivia amidst the tangled bedcovers. She unbuckled the gag from behind Olivia's head, noting with intense regret the tightness of the straps and the deep impressions they left over the brunette's cheeks. She eased the rubber from between Olivia's teeth and looked only briefly at the new teeth marks before throwing it away. She didn't want to face the evidence of the pain Olivia must have been in. Must be in, she corrected herself ruefully. This was her fault. She repeated her actions on the cuffs still wrapped tightly around Olivia's wrists and ankles. Again, she was overwhelmed with disgust. Her girlfriend's hands and feet were a disturbing shade of dark purple. The cuffs had been far too tight. The marks left on her wrists were most disturbing of all. Casey was sure she could make out impressions left by the very stitching in the leather. Olivia must have been hanging that way for hours.

Casey pulled the covers up to Olivia's shoulders. Shuddering, she noticed the trail of dried blood on Olivia's lips and chin. Her nose was hideously swollen and her bottom lip was deeply split. It was too much. Clapping her palm over her mouth, Casey stumbled desperately to the bathroom. She fell to her knees and vomited violently into the toilet. Tears began to come in earnest.


	2. Chapter 2

The new agony of the blood rushing into her numb hands and feet was the first sensation Olivia fully understood. She groaned, rolling her eyes against the too bright sunlight and gingerly touching her dry tongue to her even drier lips. As if through a thick, muffling cloud, she came to the dim awareness that the gag was gone. For a moment, she paused and took meager comfort from this small relief and strange thoughts filtered through her mind.

Clumsily, she dragged her hands together and rubbed her burning fingers, breathing and wincing through the pain that seemed to simmer in every muscle of her body. She frowned as flashes of pain, darkness and shocking fear flitted before her eyes. Suddenly, she gasped and choked on the chilly air bursting in her lungs. She wanted to scream but only managed a stream of fitful coughing. It was the horror of her memory that silenced her voice. As she clutched at her chest, only one thought coursed through her body and mind: Casey. Casey had done this to her.

Pulling her sleeves down to cover her knuckles, Olivia locked the door of her apartment behind her and began her slow limp to work. Thrusting herself out on to the sidewalk and in to the bustling crowds of commuters, Olivia let her thoughts wander. For what seemed like the thousandth time since her escape from Casey's apartment, Olivia lingered and poured over the chilling turn her life had taken. Only twenty-four hours prior, Olivia had walked to the precinct with the nearest thing to a spring in her step that she had ever enacted. The prospect of enjoying a luxurious dinner with her young girlfriend had lifted her spirits in a way all together new for the usually quiet and brooding detective. Now, however, her light steps had devolved into stiff plodding and her thoughts had turned dark. With regret, she fully understood that what had happened could never be taken back. Her once lovely future with Casey was gone.

She had only just managed to find her clothes and yank them clumsily onto her body before the bathroom door had creaked open and Casey had emerged. At the sight of the disheveled redhead, her eyes red and one hand pressed to her lips, Olivia had quickly stilled her movements and stared. Casey had first looked at the empty bed and, her expression shifting wildly from regret to panic, had then whipped around to find Olivia. They had watched each other, one cautiously and the other in shock, for seconds that stretched into much longer increments of time before Casey broke from her silence.

"Olivia," she had said, clearly struggling to force the syllables from her guilt-constricted throat. But Olivia would hear nothing more from her abuser. The sound had snapped her back into action and she finished shoving her foot into her shoe. The violent action brought a wince to her face but she hurriedly pushed her pain to the side. With one last glimpse of Casey's stricken posture, Olivia had run from the apartment.

Though the pain seemed to shift through her body with each step, always popping up in a new joint or muscle, Olivia didn't stop running until she reached her own apartment. Her sanctuary. Jostling the keys in her shaking fist until she managed to unlock the door, Olivia forced herself to stay focused on her one and only goal: a shower. As soon as she could, leaving her clothes scattered in a messy path from front door to bedroom to bathroom, Olivia threw herself under the shower's spray. At first, the cold water shocked her and seemed to burn her skin but she welcomed the pain. It was under her control, her choice. Soon, the water warmed. It became tepid and then pleasantly warm and then blisteringly hot but she didn't notice. Instead, she scrubbed and scrubbed until her hands couldn't seem to hold the washcloth any longer. Only then did she let it fall back into the tub and turn to shut off the water.

Numbly, she patted herself dry and set about the comfortingly boring routine of getting ready for work. She combed her dripping hair into place and eased a buttoned shirt over her shoulders; she wasn't sure that she could pull a turtleneck over her head. At least a dress shirt's collar would provide her some protection from unwelcome eyes. Finally, when she could think of no further menial task to complete, Olivia resigned herself to beginning the day. Wincing for the last time in the privacy of her dark apartment, Olivia pulled on her leather coat and shoved her hands into her pockets. She was as ready as she ever would be.

Taking a deep but shaky breath, Olivia pulled her collar up and brushed her short hair to conceal her blackened eye as best she could before yanking the precinct door open and marching directly to her desk. Keeping her eyes glued to the tiled linoleum floor, she hoped against all hope that she could simply count down the hours with the stack of shamefully neglected paperwork on her desk. She also hoped that Elliot would have the good sense to let it alone but, as soon as she took her seat, she knew she would have no such luck.

"Jesus, Liv!" he exclaimed, hauling himself to his feet and crossing to her desk. "What did you and Casey get into last night? A brawl?" As he spoke, he bent low to inspect her injuries more completely but recoiled when Olivia brusquely turned away and flipped her hand at him with irritation. "Fine," he grumbled, quietly but with sufficient volume to ensure that his partner heard him. With no further comment, he threw himself back down in his desk chair and hunched over his own paperwork. Great, he mused with a sharp flash of misery, this morning was starting out perfect.

They managed only a few minutes of this uncomfortable peace before Cragen emerged from his office, phone in hand, and called for the catching detectives. Without hesitation, without even giving the captain space for a breath, Elliot was out of his chair and across the crowded office, hand eagerly in the air. "Liv and I," he said loudly. "We'll take it." The day had gotten off to an uncomfortable start but perhaps sinking their teeth into a new case would set him and Olivia back at rights with each other.

From his first movement, Olivia struggled not to react. She craved a quiet day. More than that, she was in no way certain that she was physically able to handle anything rougher then staying perfectly still in her desk chair. Walking to the precinct had been an unpleasant experience, to say the least, and her back was really beginning to bother her. However, as Elliot returned with a fresh case file, his expression refreshingly free of the concern and irritation that so irked Olivia, she didn't have to strength to speak. Instead she simply accepted the sheets of paper offered by her partner and settled down to her reading.

Olivia stepped out of the grimy apartment and leaned heavily against the equally grimy wall of the hallway. For just a moment, out of the sight of her growingly curious partner, Olivia let her carefully constructed façade crack a little. Thankfully, they had come out only to ask a few questions and no chases had been required nor punches thrown. But, despite the ease of this interview, Olivia still felt herself growing tired. Though she would never admit such a thing to Elliot, she hoped that she might be able to sneak off to the crib for a few minutes rest once they got back to the precinct.

Leaning even lower over her desk, Olivia strained to bring the blurry lines she was reading in to focus. Resting her forehead in her palm, she blinked rapidly in an effort to clear the exhaustion from her eyes. She repeated this course of straining and blinking for a long time until she finally decided just to close her eyes, just for a few seconds. Maybe that would straighten her out.

Elliot tried to ignore his partner's obvious bruises and unusual tiredness but, finding himself unable to stop glancing across their desks, decided that action had to be taken. If either of them were to get anything meaningful completed, he guessed, then Olivia would have to take a break. He rose and walked to her side, scuffing his feet across the floor so as not to startle her. His efforts, however, went unnoticed; by the time he reached her, Olivia was still fast asleep, her head lolling unsteadily on her propped up elbow. Clearing his throat, he bent and touched her shoulder gently.

At his touch, Olivia went wild. She swung violently at him, her fist tightly clenched as her deeply trained instincts instructed. She gasped raggedly, as if recovering from a long run, and used her free hand to claw her hair out of her eyes. As soon as she met his gaze, she froze but for the rapid motion of her heaving chest. Quickly, remembrance returned to her eyes and she dropped her arm to her lap though she did not unclench her fist. She looked away, as if in shame, and tried to catch her breath before trying to speak.

At her actions, Elliot too froze. For the first time, he caught a clear glimpse of the damage to her face and his heart seemed to rise uncomfortably high in his chest. She looked terrible. Her right eye was blackened and her nose looked broken. Her lip was deeply split and, when her sleeve had fallen away, he saw deep bruises encircling her wrist. Worst of all, worse even then the disturbing injuries, was the look in his partner's eyes; she was terrified. Snapping himself from his stunned posture, Elliot leapt into action.

"Liv, what the hell happened to you?" he growled protectively. He reached and grasped her shoulder to stop her from running but, at her sudden yelp, snatched his hand away as if he had been burned. Settling his voice into a familiar, comforting cadence, he tried again. "Liv, have you seen a doctor? Your nose looks …" He choked on his words as Olivia sprang from her chair and shoved him away.

"Leave it alone, Elliot," she spat threateningly. She glared haughtily at him with her good eye before turning and stomping towards the stairs to the crib with as much dignity as she could muster. Before she had managed ten steps, however, she bent and clutched at her side. Her lower back had been irritating her all day and the pain had been growing steadily more intense but this stab of agony made her stumble and then fall to her knees. Finally, she lost her last vestiges of control and, ignoring the stares of her colleagues boring into her, groaned aloud at long last.

Elliot was on his knees at her side at the instant she fell, wrapping his hands around her shoulders and holding her firmly. "Liv," he pleaded. "Tell me what's wrong." He hesitated but, getting no response, he made up his mind. "I'm going to call a bus." At this, Olivia seemed to recover a little.

"No," she rasped. "No bus. Just… just drive me yourself." These words, more than anything else she could have said, frightened Elliot. He had been working with Olivia for years and never once had she agreed to go willingly to see a doctor. Rather, as he knew quite well, she would fight like hell to stay out of the hospital. Often, it was all Captain Cragen could do to drag her to the E.R. and then it was usually only the prospect of extended ass duty or finding a new job that compelled her. Her quiet plea for him to drive her to the hospital was something completely new to Elliot and it scared him to the bone.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Elliot jerked the sedan, tires squealing, into the ER parking lot, he knew with absolute certainty that there was something seriously wrong with his partner. She hunched over the seatbelt, straining to favor her right side and shield it from jarring. Though she would not look at him, Elliot could tell that her face was drawn and pale and he could hear her panting breaths even over the usual din of Manhattan traffic. Slamming on the brakes, he didn't even bother to pull the keys from the ignition before jumping from his seat and hurrying to the passenger side. He threw the door open and, before she even managed a single movement, he had her out of the car and held tightly in his arms. Ignoring the disgruntled parking attendant demanding his keys and signature, Elliot rushed through the whooshing electric doors.

"I need some help," he demanded, unfamiliar desperation coloring his normally commanding tone. "She's a police officer." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, a nurse rushed from behind her desk to meet him, calling for a chair and help. The words "police" always inspired this attention in any ER in the city; the hospital personnel worked too closely with New York's finest to warrant anything less then their best.

Elliot tried to ignore Olivia's growled groan as he bent to deposit her in the waiting wheelchair. He hated any sound or sight that reminded him that she was in pain. She was too good to be made to suffer, she meant too much to him. Someone had done this to her and he would discover who it had been. Elliot would find him and make him pay. Until then, however, his first priority was his partner. He squeezed her hand as the nurses whisked her away but he doubted she noticed. He looked after her until the doors shut behind her and only then acceded to the waiting nurse's badgering. Reluctantly, he accepted the clipboard full of paperwork and made his way to one of the available seats. The sooner he filled in the blanks, the sooner he would be able to see his partner. And then he would have the answers he needed.

Elliot wasn't sure whether it was his constant and irritated inquiries that did the trick, or whether the requisite amount of time had passed, but the sound of his name finally broke him free of his impatient pacing. Turning on his heel, he rushed to the white-coated man in the doorway and fixed him with an intense blue stare. He opened his mouth to demand to be taken to his partner but the doctor cut him off with a patient smile.

"Relax, Detective Stabler," he said clearly. "You can see her now. I'll take you. Since you're her emergency contact, I just want to give you my assessment. We can talk while we walk." He turned and strode familiarly down the hall, Elliot close on his heels. "I'm glad you brought Detective Benson in when you did. She has a serious kidney laceration and, if you had waited any longer, there is a chance we wouldn't have been able to save the kidney. As it is, we'll have to keep her for a few days to monitor her kidney function. If it doesn't improve, we'll have to operate to repair the damage. However, I have high hopes that surgery won't be necessary." Here he paused and turned to the worried detective. "Someone really did a number on her. It looks like she was beaten with a blunt object like a bat or a pipe. We've tried to ask her about it but she won't say a word to us. I'm hoping that she might talk to you."

Elliot nodded through the doctor's brief speech, keeping his eyes focused on some unidentified point behind the doctor's ear as he spoke. True to his training, Elliot took in every nuance of the doctor's voice and body language as he digested the information. Someone had beaten his partner. Someone had hurt her on purpose. Finally noticing that the doctor had fallen silent, he snapped back to attention and looked at the shorter man.

"Yes," Elliot grunted. "I'll… I'll ask her about it, Dr…." The doctor smiled again.

"It's Dr. Samson," he said quietly. "If you need anything, the nurses will help you or they can page me. And Detective, find the bastard. Anybody who can do that to a cop shouldn't be out on the streets." Elliot gritted his teeth and nodded stiffly. He couldn't have agreed more completely. With that said, the doctor returned to his work and Elliot steeled himself to talk to Olivia. Hand on the door, he mentally gasped a prayer that she would talk to him before turning the handle and entering.

At the first rattle of the doorknob, Olivia fixed her eyes on the doorway and waited. It must be Elliot, she thought. After all, it seemed like she had already been seen by every doctor and nurse in the hospital. It was time to face her partner and as much as she was reluctant to do so, she knew she no longer had a choice. When the door finally opened completely, she wasn't disappointed; there was her partner, stiff and familiar, a look of mixed worry and anger creasing his expression. Swallowing her own anxieties, Olivia forced a small smile on to her lips. To her great relief, her hard won smile seemed to relax Elliot enough for him to enter and sit at her side.

"Liv," he began softly. "Are you alright?" She sighed in lieu of an answer that was too difficult to give and nodded.

"Yeah. These are good drugs." He didn't smile at her joke, choosing instead to lean in intimately.

"Olivia, I want answers. You show up at work with a shiner and a busted nose. You won't talk about it and then you collapse in the middle of the squad room. I know you know who did this to you and I need you to tell me." He trailed off and, though he knew he shouldn't, he reached for her hand. They had never been ones for overt gestures of caring but his need to touch her overcame whatever reservations he had. He wanted to comfort her, like he would comfort his daughter or his sister, if he had one. But she again pulled her hand away and balled it into a fist at her side.

"El, I don't want to talk about it. Thank you for bringing me to the hospital, but I don't need you anymore. Go home to the kids and Kathy. I'll see you tomorrow." Elliot pulled back a little, tearing his eyes away from her turned face and focusing instead on his knees. He could feel the deep fury building in him and he used the time during which she spoke to take it in hand. He needed to focus. After all their years together, he had expected this rebuff and knew that, if he worked at it, he would be able to coax the truth from her. They had never been able to keep secrets from each other for long.

Silently, he clasped his hands together to keep from reaching out for her again and regrouped his thoughts. Just as he gathered himself and looked back up to speak, the opening door interrupted him. He turned to look over his shoulder just in time to see Casey, pale and hesitant, step timidly into the room. In her arms she carried a beautiful bouquet of flowers and on her face she wore a look of pale regret and shame. Elliot gaped for a fraction of a second and then schooled his expression into one of gentle welcoming.

"Hey, Case," he said quietly. "She's going to be ok, she…" His statement faltered as a harsh voice interrupted him sharply.

"Get out."

He turned quickly back to his partner. She had turned her head away from both of them and stared at the window. Her expression was flat and her voice held only contempt and carefully restrained anger. Her fists were now white-knuckled and Elliot could see the muscles in her forearms tremble and shake. For a moment, he could do nothing but look between his tense partner and the shaken woman still standing in the doorway as the wheels in his mind worked furiously. It couldn't be, he thought uneasily.

Casey inhaled raggedly and took a step towards the bed and her girlfriend. "Olivia," she whispered. "You have no idea…" Her words were greeted by Olivia's furiously twisted face and a snarl.

"I said, get out!" she hissed. "There's nothing I have to say to you and there's nothing I want to hear from you." Casey trembled under Olivia's red hot glare and her raw tone and she sniffled pathetically as fresh tears threatened. She took another step forward. Finally, Elliot snapped from his stunned silence and leapt towards the tall woman.

"You!" he roared. "Get away from her!" He took hold of Casey's shoulder and shoved her viciously back, slamming her into the wall and forcefully holding her there. He thrust his face towards hers, breathing his hot, angry breath over her skin, and glared. "What did you do?" he hissed dangerously.

"I… I…" Before she could confess, the sound of rapid footsteps approached and the door swung wide open. Barely pausing to take in the scene, nurses grasped Elliot and dragged him away.

"What is the meaning of this? What is going on here?" A tall and authoritative nurse bent to look at Casey before looking over her shoulder at Elliot. He took a few steadying breaths, once again reigning in the fury the so often boiled over, before regaining himself sufficiently.

"It was her. She's the one who did this to my partner." His voice contained nothing but naked anger and he radiated protectiveness for his partner. The nurse quickly turned back to Casey who, throughout the entire outburst, had remained silent and trembling.

"Is this true?" she asked calmly. She was no stranger to such scenes and she only wanted to maintain as much control and serenity as possible; they were in the middle of a hospital after all. Keeping her eyes guiltily downcast, Casey only nodded in response. Elliot growled and shook off the nurses still crowded around him. He wanted to kill Casey. Over the months she had worked with SVU, he had grown tolerant and then fond of the young woman. And, after she and Olivia had begun dating, he had begrudgingly accepted her as part of his life. However, his loyalty would always remain with his partner; they always had each other's backs. He stepped forward menacingly but was stopped short by the tall nurse's controlled gaze.

"Detective, remember that this is a hospital. I will take care of this. Maybe you should take a walk and cool down." He shook his head brusquely and swallowed throatily. No, he thought, Casey wasn't worth it. He would let the nurse handle it. Right now, he wanted to be with Olivia. He owed her that.


	4. Chapter 4

Able to resist the increasingly irritated interruptions no longer, Elliot tore himself away from his partner with an exaggerated but gentle punch to her shoulder. He ignored the huffy nurses and turned in the doorway. "See you tomorrow, Liv," he said, smiling. He wanted to reassure her that she would be taken care of without saying it in so many words. Having known her so closely for so long, Elliot understood that their unspoken agreement was just that: unspoken. If he told her how much he and the other detectives loved and cared for her, she would protest and attempt to rebuild the walls she had so tentatively let tall. He would do the same if the tables were turned. So, he said goodnight and smiled, never letting breathe a word of what he had planned. Or, he thought, correcting himself, who he planned to see.

Striding down the too white hallway, Elliot roughly jerked his jacket over his shoulders and finally let his grim smile surface. He had no doubt that Olivia knew where was going and, though he had searched her face carefully, he had detected no protest on her part. Silently, she had told him all he needed to know. Casey had hurt her physically and, worse, she had made his partner afraid. Olivia had never been afraid, at least not for herself, and Elliot understood how cornered she must feel. He would do his best to help her regain her security. First, however, he had some business to take care of.

Growling to himself, Elliot again whipped his fist against the door. He knew she was there. He could hear the unmistakable sounds of sobs muffled in a pillow. "Come on, Casey. If you won't answer, I'll yell it through the door." He paused, holding his breath, and rested his fist on the doorframe. He would give her five seconds. Gritting his teeth, he began to count. Just as he reached "two", the door flew open and he was met by Casey's slumped posture. Wordlessly, she turned away and left him in the doorway.

Only Elliot's threat of shouting what she had done for all the world to hear had forced Casey's hand. Otherwise, she had been willing to let him pound on the door all night, if that would make him feel better. But she simply could not bear the stares of her neighbors, the disgusted looks she was sure she would receive if Elliot bellowed the details of her crime in her hallway. So she relented unwillingly and opened the door. She deserved what ever he had to dish out.

Without looking back, Casey knew by the clumping of heavy shoes and the whistle of falsely calm breathing that Elliot followed. Keeping her eyes fixed desperately on the bland carpet, Casey took an uneasy seat on her sofa, making sure she was within arm's reach of a box of tissues; she had a sinking feeling that she would need a pile by the time Elliot was finished with her. Sighing, she watched his shoes cross the room and waited.

Elliot didn't sit down nor did he begin to speak immediately. He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to throw Casey against the wall and beat the shit out of her until he understood exactly why she had done what she had. However, he had a different plan for this encounter. Olivia's taut, pained expression kept popping into the forefront of his mind. The way the muscles had stood out in her neck as she stared out the window and the strain he could read in the set of her lips as she hissed for Casey to leave served to cement Elliot's resolve. If it had been anyone else, Elliot would have thrown caution to the wind and followed his instincts. However, when he remembered Olivia, he curbed himself. Punching Casey wouldn't fix anything, he reminded himself. He was determined to use his words instead of his fists.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he took a deep breath. "Casey," he said flatly. "Why did you do it?"

Casey shuddered at his question. She had expected something worse, yelling or maybe even a punch. In fact, some part of her hoped for Elliot to do his worst. She certainly deserved it and, in some ways, it would be easier to bear than this unnaturally controlled calm. Crumpling the cloth of her pants in her fingers, she tried to keep her voice steady as she answered.

"I don't know. It was an accident. I was angry and I … I had too much to drink. I took it out on Liv. I'm…" She shrank back and snapped her jaw shut as Elliot lunged at her. With his face so close to hers that she couldn't help but look at him, he snarled.

"Don't call her that." He punctuated each one of his harshly spoken words with overdone enunciation. He remained deadly still for a prolonged moment, staring down his partner's poor excuse for a girlfriend and struggling to control his shaking fists. He was so close. He could let her have it and be done with the whole thing. Casey jerkily looked away and the moment was broken. Remembering his unspoken promise to Olivia, Elliot used all of his willpower to straighten up and take few steps back. He had come here to hear Casey's reasons and nothing else. If it all went well, he planned on never wasting another second on this sniveling woman.

Casey dabbed at her fresh tears with a shredded tissue and kept her eyes carefully averted. When she finally spoke, her voice was wavering and high. Guilt and deep regret dripped from every syllable.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "There's … there's nothing else I can say. I never meant to hurt her." Suddenly, she whipped her head up and fixed Elliot with her teary gaze. "Elliot, I want you to tell her that. Tell her I'm sorry. I'll go in tomorrow and hand in my resignation. She'll never have to see me again. Promise me you'll tell her." Though tears still dripped onto her cheeks, there was nothing shy about the pleading determination in her expression. Her green eyes flashed with heartfelt guilt and furious meaning. Elliot felt fixed in place.

Recovering from his momentary silence, Elliot coughed and took two steps towards the woman who remained ramrod straight. He looked down his nose at her as he responded quietly. "I'll tell her, but not for your sake. She needs to hear it." Taking a strained breath, he leaned down and dug his fingers into her upper arm until she winced in pain. He imbued his voice with a generous measure of threat. "Don't you dare come near her again. Understand?" Casey nodded, only then breaking free from their locked gaze as a sob shook her throat. She certainly understood. She understood more thoroughly than Elliot could possibly know.


	5. Chapter 5

"I said I'd give you a kidney, Liv, not carry your purse up to one of your damned walk-ups."

Just ahead of him, Olivia slowly climbed two stairs up to a landing and then looked down over her shoulder at her partner. She held out her hand. "Then give it to me. I'll be fine."

He returned her look for a moment, frowning slightly. "It was a joke."

"Oh. Ha." She said it just like that, not a laugh, but a syllable. She turned and continued her laborious climb without looking to see whether Elliot followed.

Elliot clenched his jaw and let her gain a slight head start; it would be a long way up at this pace, and he wasn't worried about keeping up. He was worried, however, about his partner. Those few words, as flat and emotionless as they had been, were the sum total of the words she had spoken directly to him in 48 hours. Even during the car ride from the hospital, while they were trapped together in uncomfortable silence, she had not so much as muttered her customary "I'm fine". At the time, he had prayed for even that familiar, if useless, response. Now, he supposed he should feel some amount of satisfaction or that his burden of worry had lifted at least a little. But, catching up to his stoic partner in three long steps, he admitted that he did not feel anything of the sort.

xxxXXXxxx

At last, they reached the fourth floor, and Olivia breathed an inward sigh of relief. Although she had healed substantially in the three days since her last trip up these stairs, she was no longer fueled by the rush of panic and adrenaline, and she was, quite frankly, very sore and tired. She accepted the keys from her hovering escort and unlocked the door, pushing it open a little ways before finally meeting her partner's insistent eyes again. "Thanks," she said quietly, holding out her hand for her purse.

Elliot hesitated, and she stretched her hand out further, her eyes not leaving his and her door not opening an inch further. "Elliot, I'm fine." Her voice lacked the confidence and calm he knew she was trying to project, and he made up his mind.

"I thought I'd come in for a while." He shifted her purse to his other hand and reached to hold the door open for her. "Just until you're settled. I'll call out for something. My treat."

After a beat, Olivia released her hold on the door handle and allowed him to push the door open. She knew to pick her battles with Elliot, and she could tell that he would be like a dog with a bone until he got whatever it was he wanted from her. And suddenly, she felt more tired than she could ever remember feeling. She wanted socks and dim lighting and a glass of water and a distraction, not a fight. "Fine," she grunted.

xxxXXXxxx

Elliot flipped his phone shut, shut the worn paper menus back into their drawer, and glanced around his partner's neat kitchen. He had been here several times; in fact, he had been in the kitchens of all of her cookie-cutter apartments, waiting for her to do something or other. But he didn't, as a rule, leave his usual spot by the kitchen counter. Despite his close relationship with Olivia, he felt suddenly felt stiff and awkward at the prospect of inviting himself further in, and the sound of the shower, barely audible a second before, sounded much louder in the otherwise quiet apartment.

So he busied himself in the kitchen, tying up the garbage sack that had begun to smell and hunting for where Olivia kept the fresh ones. As he pulled open drawer after drawer, he wondered at how the bland neatness of her kitchen persisted even in the drawers. There was none of the usual detritus and junk that people swept into drawers to hide from visitors' eyes, not a single utensil out of place or sloppily stored package. There was nothing to indicate that a real person actually lived here. Finally, opening a deep drawer near the floor, he found what he was looking for: garbage bags and something imperfect, a wrinkled package wrapped in a brown paper bag.

His task all but forgotten, Elliot unfurled the brown paper and reached inside. He didn't know what he had expected to find, but it was not the handful of photographs that he withdrew. Leaning against the counter, he began to look at them one by one: Alex and Olivia in sunglasses by the shore, Alex and Olivia standing under a marquee, Alex laughing behind her hand, Alex, Alex, and more Alex. Between photos, Elliot glanced around the kitchen and over the counter at the poorly lit living room. There were very few pictures on the walls and only one framed photo on an end table. Briefly, he wondered whether, if the light was better, he might be able to see dark spots on the walls where these pictures had hung before. And he realized how very little he knew about the woman he knew so well.

"What are you doing?"

The words weren't merely cold; they were ice given voice. Elliot started and quickly shoved the photographs back into the brown bag as the blood rushed to his face. "I was … uh … looking for garbage bags." He cursed himself for the lame excuse and for not noticing that the shower had been shut off.

"I can see that." She glared at him for a long moment before her hard expression softened a little. With a dismissive wave of her hand, she turned to go back into the living room. "Come in if you're coming in."

He didn't stop to wonder whether the invitation was made out of a real need for his company or simple exhaustion; he was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, he hurried to stuff a fresh garbage bag into the can and to replace the photos in the drawer where he'd found them before following her.

She had already taken a seat on the sofa. Elliot sat in an armchair diagonally across the coffee table from her and tried to swallow his awkward embarrassment at being caught, but the silence was too stifling. He crossed his legs and unfolded his tense hands on the chair's arms. If he was going to ask, he had to ask now. "Liv," he began, keeping his voice as gentle and even as he could, "what happe…"

She cut him off and looked away from him, willing her fading bruises to be hidden from him as obviously as if she had held up her hands to cover them. "She made a mistake," she said coldly. She paused. "I made a mistake." By the end, her voice was little more than a sigh, and even in profile, Elliot thought she looked incredibly tired and sad.

As she seemed to deflate, Elliot felt a bubble of fury rising in his throat. This was worse than her stony silence. With a great effort, Elliot kept his seat and held his tongue, though his fingers gripped the arms of the chair tightly. His partner's eyes flicked suspiciously over him, and he forced his face to remain expressionless.

"She's young, she did a stupid thing. I tried to make her into something she's not." She glanced at him again, and this time, she turned to face him, though she still avoided meeting his eyes. Her posture became tense. "What?" she spat, suddenly prickly and defensive. "I can tell you want to say something, so just say it, Elliot."

He paused, and she hauled herself violently out of her seat, stalking pointlessly towards the kitchen and then back again. She moved like something caged and fierce and afraid. Elliot stood as well. "Fine," he said slowly, trying his best to keep from reacting in frustration. "You're making excuses for her." She continued to pace, and encouraged, he began to pick up steam. "What the hell, Liv? You've been covering for her the whole time. You come to work beat to hell, you don't let me help you until you collapse, and you still won't press charges. If Alex were here…"

The slap that cut off his speech came seemingly out of nowhere and was delivered with surprising strength. Reflexively, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, holding her firmly in place. Roiling with adrenaline, he glared down at Olivia for a split second, furiously taking in her hitched breathing, her feverishly flushed skin, her grotesquely colored broken nose, her brittle stare… she pulled jerkily against his grip, and he released her as if he had been burned.

"Don't talk about her." Her voice was loud in the tense silence, gravelly and angry, and her hands tightened into fists and then stretched out again at her sides. Her jaw moved as if she had something else to say, but the only sound was her breath whistling through her teeth.

As they stood opposite each other, Elliot found himself frozen: he had the training to handle a vic, but this was his partner. He couldn't help but think of all the times Olivia had offered him comfort and of all the times he had clumsily tried to return the favor only to be told to "shut up and drive" or similar. When it came to Olivia, he was only good at the easy stuff: ordering protective details, waiting for her lights to flash, making sure she ate at least something. He always struggled to keep his cool when it came to the rest, to the fact that his partner was a human being, a woman, a complicated person with vulnerabilities and emotions. But that didn't stop him from trying.

Slowly and steadily, he reached out again and touched her shoulder with his fingertips. "I'm sorry, Liv," he said quietly. "That was stupid. Tell me what to do. Anything you…" As he spoke, Olivia's hand moved to cover his, and when he started to ramble, she squeezed his fingers, cutting him off.

"It's okay," she said quietly. She gave his hand a second squeeze, and with a calming breath, closed her eyes. "Just … shut up."


	6. Chapter 6

Olivia felt frozen. There was nothing holding her in place, but all the same, her feet felt rooted to the carpet. She fidgeted, suddenly stifled by the heavy jacket she hadn't bothered to take off. After all, she hadn't planned on staying long. But maybe she shouldn't have come at all. Unsure of whether she was searching for a reason to stay or an excuse to go, she unfurled the brown paper bag tucked under her arm and looked inside.

There wasn't much there, she mused: a toothbrush, a couple of pairs of panties, a cardigan, a library book that was probably two months overdue. It had only taken Olivia 15 minutes to find it all and pack it up. Well, 15 minutes to pack it up and two days to build up the courage to bring it here. She pressed her lips into a thin line and crushed the top of the bag in a white-knuckled grip. And three fucking days of recovery, three humiliating fucking days. Squaring her shoulders, she resolved to leave the bag by the door and just walk away. Elliot had taken it upon himself to retrieve the key she had given Casey and there was nothing else she wanted back. She was free to wash her hands of this pointless errand and the woman she had mistaken for someone else.

Before she could change her mind, she thrust the now battered paper bag towards the door and turned to stalk back down the hall. She had done her duty; Casey was on her own. Taking a deep breath through her nose, Olivia punched the button to call the elevator and stuffed her empty fists deep into her pockets. Her fingers closed around her key ring, and she stifled a curse. Of all the damn things to forget. Prying the key free, she retraced her steps quickly. The hall wasn't long. If she was lucky, she might just be able to make it before the elevator showed up.

But then, she saw an arm emerge from the familiar doorway to pick up the abandoned bag. For the second time in less than a minute, Olivia cursed silently. She should have known better. She was Olivia Benson, for Christ's sake, and Lady Luck was no friend of Olivia Benson. There was nothing to do now but let it play out. She braced herself, and when Casey stepped out and spotted her, she held up the key.

"I thought you might need this." Olivia tried not to listen to how flat and awkward the words sounded. She was grimly grateful that her voice didn't tremble or break, but she still hated that she didn't sound stronger. Keeping her spine perfectly straight and her gaze fixed on the redhead's evasive eyes, she covered the two steps separating them and dropped the key into Casey's outstretched hand.

"Thanks."

Casey's voice was thin, and her hair, in a tangled bun, looked like it hadn't been washed in a week. Now that she stood practically in the open doorway, Olivia could see that the apartment was a wreck, half packed in boxes and half strewn haphazardly on every available surface. She felt eyes on her face, and when she returned her gaze to her former girlfriend, she saw Casey look quickly away in shame.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm so sorry, Liv."

They went from tense silence to speaking over each other in an instant and then back to silence just as quickly. Their eyes met for the first time, just for a second, and when Olivia laid her hand on the door frame, Casey retreated a step. Olivia's sleeve had fallen down a little ways, exposing a fading bruise left by the steel buckle of a leather restraint. Casey's gaze was fixed on it, and Olivia tightened her grip on the painted wood to help steady herself and resist the urge to hide her hand. She wanted Casey to look, to face what she had done.

After a long moment, she cleared her throat. "Can I come in?"

Casey jumped a little, glancing from Olivia's wrist to her face and back, and then backed up another step, opening the door wide. Olivia brushed past the silent woman, stripping off her jacket to expose her arms and the bruises that still bloomed over her collarbone. She felt a twinge of shame when Casey hiccupped guiltily, but it lasted less than the blink of an eye. Casey had inflicted much worse, and Olivia wasn't just talking about the pain and the medical bills. No, Casey had humiliated her, victimized her, and violated her trust in the most fundamental of ways. She could endure spending a few minutes in the presence of her handiwork so that Olivia could have her answers. Casey shut the door and folded her arms protectively around the bag of her belongings.

"Branch talked to someone he knows up in Albany. I turned in my resignation, and I start upstate in a couple of days." She paused. "Liv I'm so sor…"

"Stop it," Olivia snapped, cutting Casey off in mid-syllable. "I don't want to hear it." Casey seemed to shrink even further, and Olivia gripped the edge of the hall table to keep her violent impulses in check. She was better than that. "I only want to know why."

Casey fixed her gaze on the bland, debris-covered rug. "How can I answer that?" she murmured. "I mean, what can I say, Olivia? That I was losing my case? That I needed someone to blame?"

Olivia set her jacket down on a nearby box and sank onto the edge of a relatively uncluttered armchair. "Case," she said quietly and evenly. "After all we've seen… Is there ever a really good reason? I just want the truth."

Casey followed her lead, shuffling to the couch and taking an uncomfortable seat on the arm of the sofa. She sighed and touched the corner of her eye with one thumb. "You know, Branch told me that I was perfect for the job because the cases got to me. I asked to be reassigned, and he actually refused." She chuckled sadly. "'He who fights monsters', right?"

Olivia bit her tongue. She had lost count of the number of times she had mused on that dire warning herself, wondering whether she might someday find that she had become one of the very monsters she tried to stop. Casey had done something heinous, but she had also been a good friend and a caring partner for a long time. Olivia's heart wasn't stone; she might not be able to love Casey anymore, but she could still pity her.

"I lost it," Casey continued, seemingly unaware of how her soft words were affecting Olivia. "I knew that my work was slipping. And then, with Picard… you know what happened." Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. "I could feel you slipping away in the midst of all that. I thought I was going to lose you, so I got drunk. I was going to come home and let you out, but then, I saw you and I was so angry and…" While she spoke, she had picked up momentum and her voice had gotten stronger, but suddenly, she trailed off.

When Casey fell silent, Olivia took a moment for herself, resting her forehead in the palm of her hand and letting the story settle over her. She could have guessed, she supposed, but that didn't make it easier to listen to. She took a deep, fortifying breath.

"Look at me," she said quietly. Once Casey had obeyed, she continued. "What made you think you were losing me? Because we had a fight?"

"Because I saw her…" She moved her jaw, as if she was grinding her teeth. "Alex. I knew that I couldn't comp…"

"What." Olivia didn't ask the question, she bit it, snapping her teeth together with an audible sound.

Casey jumped, startled by the violence of the brunette's reaction. "I met a friend from appeals for lunch a couple of weeks ago. I saw her on the steps. I… I thought you knew."

xxxXXXxxx

Elliot snuck a glance at his partner over the lip of his paper coffee cup. She was still officially barred from the squad room, but he had been unsurprised to get a call from her. In their nine years of partnership, he had almost never known her to be able to stay away from the job for more than a day or two. He had been surprised, however, when she'd failed to even ask about their cases and had instead asked him to pick her up before heading home. He hadn't asked for an explanation; that wasn't the way they worked. But he was a little baffled.

He lowered his cup and noticed that Olivia hadn't taken more than a sip of hers, even though she had insisted on coming to this particular coffee shop. She seemed completely distracted, staring out of the window and drumming her fingertips anxiously against her cup. Elliot could see that something was wrong, but he couldn't possibly fathom what they were doing here.

"Liv, what's going on with you?"

He paused waiting for a response. He got none, not even a glance. He leaned over a little, trying to catch her eye. "Hey, Earth to Olivia. " She shifted her drumming fingers to the Formica tabletop but gave no sign that she was listening to him or that she was even aware of his presence. He hated to admit it, but she was starting to scare him a little bit. He knew that she was in uncharted waters, and he was more than willing to do anything she wanted or needed. She just had to say it, to talk to him. He covered her fingers with his own to draw her attention and to stop the nervous tic that was starting to border on frantic.

"Olivia, tell me what we're doing here. I'll back your play, but…"

At last, she spared him an irritated glance and shushed him before returning her attention to the busy sidewalk outside. He resisted the urge to press his lips together. That was more like the Olivia he knew and loved, he mused silently, although the fact that she didn't snatch her hand away piqued his concern. Certain now that something was extremely wrong, Elliot resolved to keep chipping away.

Before he could say another word, however, her hand tightened around his, nails digging into his fingers, and she gasped as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Hairs on the back of his neck standing up, Elliot followed her gaze, craning to see whatever it was that had precipitated this reaction. If it was Casey, he thought furiously, if she had threatened or blackmailed Olivia… Well, his partner's gentler nature be damned, he'd put that cow in the hospital. But then he saw what she saw, and he knew without a doubt that it was not Casey that had Olivia acting so strangely.

It was Alex.

Alex who was in Witsec. Alex who had left without saying goodbye. Alex who had, Elliot suddenly realized, had come home without so much as a word to Olivia.

Elliot stared after her until her blonde ponytail disappeared in a crowd waiting for the light to change. Then, he turned his shocked stare onto his partner. Olivia's face was expressionless except for the tight muscles at the corners of her mouth and the smallest of creases between her eyebrows. He felt stunned: horrified and full of rage on behalf of the woman across the table and utterly at a loss as to what to do about it. He returned her grip on his hand.

"Liv…"

She finally looked at him, and he almost selfishly wished she hadn't. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then Olivia's soul was a wasteland. Her bruises, even though they had faded substantially over the past several days, abruptly seemed to stand out, and Elliot thought that she looked… worn out? Small? Desolated? He felt acutely aware of the blessings in his life – his wife, his children, his home – and of all the times he had borne witness to the let downs in his partner's. Something clicked, and Elliot was suddenly resolute; he knew what to do. He bunched his jacket in his free hand and stood.

"Come on, Liv. Kathy's got a roast in the crockpot, and you're coming home for dinner."

**Author's Note:** **If you haven't guessed by now, I'm in love with the original concept of Olivia as a tragic character, i.e., one who, through no fault of her own and for no discernible reason, gets fucked over and over and over again. It's so unsatisfying that it comes full circle and is totally satisfying. So yeah, thanks, Elliot, for the pot roast, because Liv has no idea that the next couple months include getting in a car accident, witnessing a suicide, being the subject of a kidnap/Milgram experiment, and having a brush with prison rape. Yeah.**


End file.
